The Golden Land Read Free

be gone forever!’
    â€˜Then its secret wasn’t meant to be found,’ said Sayadaw philosophically.
    Ye Aung heard the chanting of the lessons begin as he scampered across the compound. He touched the carved elephant at the bottom of the steps to the monastery and whispered a swift prayer in the hope that by some blessed chance his special manuscript had survived.
    1913
    The late afternoon colours melted over the slick brown surface of the Irrawaddy. The tranquillity of the still river was broken by the chugging of the engine driving the large paddlewheels of the laden steamer as it churned towards Mandalay. On the polished teak open-air upper deck, in the section reserved for first-class passengers, pre-dinner drinks were being served. The dark-skinned Bengali boat crew of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company waited on the passengers, all of whom seemed to be British, as they reclined in their planters’ chairs, screened by tubs of palms, sipping their sundowners. The men, dressed in crisp whites, were discussing trading prices, the formation of a new British teak company, the continued growth of the Yenangyaung oilfields, their successful rice crops and news from home. In more subdued tones, they discussed the latest rumours of the continuing machinations of the exiled King Thibaw and his queen, still languishing in Ratnagiri in India.
    â€˜They have to be watched like hawks. They’re always plotting to get back to Burma,’ said a planter.
    â€˜She’s the one to watch. You know she was behind the massacre of most of the king’s relatives, even some half brothers and sisters, and anyone else she thought might have challenged his succession,’ said another.
    â€˜Beaten to death in red velvet sacks,’ shuddered his companion.
    â€˜I was told by a British officer whose friend was present at the executions that it was all very ceremonial. Indeed, quite respectful and calculated to be swift since the blows were judiciously placed,’ responded the first planter.
    â€˜The people didn’t like Thibaw much, either. Bloodthirsty, even if the chap did play cricket,’ said his friend laughing.
    â€˜Damned primitive lot if you ask me,’ commented another of the group. ‘Thank god we’ve annexed the country now. They should consider themselves fortunate not to all be stuffed in a velvet bag.’
    â€˜If it wasn’t for loyalty to the flag and the opportunities out here I wonder how many of us would stick it out,’ mused a retired colonel.
    â€˜I think those ruby mines, oilfields and teak forests are rather attractive,’ said the paddlesteamer’s captain with a slight smile. ‘As are the Burmese ladies. I think the rewards of Burma are well worth putting up with a bit of discomfort.’
    A little apart from this group of men, Andrew Hancock sat quietly while the drinks and Chinese savouries were being served by the stewards. He listened half-heartedly to the conversations nearby. Staring out over the river to the thickly forested bank, Andrew thought of how incredible it was to be here in Burma. Travelling and adventure was not the life he had expected. His father worked in a bank in Brighton, and Andrew assumed he would do the same, even though he was passionate about photography. He thought it was wonderful to capture something or someone in a photograph and make that moment last forever. Unfortunately, he could see no way of earning a living taking photographs. Then he had a marvellous piece of luck. A distant uncle died and left everything in his will to Andrew. While it was not a fortune, it gave Andrew the time and opportunity to see if it was possible to become a professional photographer.
    Andrew quickly found that photographing Brighton was quite dull and he realised that what he really wanted to do was to combine photography with adventure, so he sailed for India. He travelled throughout the country, mainly taking photos of village